Chasing Freedom
by amoka22
Summary: Snapped!Gangster!America just wanted to disappear, from the mafia twins, from his past deeds. But will all end well for the runaway? Warnings: Character death, suicide, language. One shot.


As I quickly stole into the back alleyway in the ghetto side of town, I knew I would have to watch my back. 'I know I shouldn't've gone gangster on that one dude with ties to the mafia,' I reflected, 'but, really, that Spaniard knew too much. Too cheerful, too. So I put him in his place, six feet under.'

I glance over my shoulder. Those two Italian mafia members, they had been shadowing me for some time now. I clutch my sub-machine gun, my lifeline, closer to my chest. It is all I have. 'Those two are out for blood. Mine.'

I sigh, slightly regretful- No, not regretful. Just . . . frustrated that my strike was without impunity. 'Okay, so maybe killing the tomato bastard wasn't the best course of action, or the smartest idea, but what was done was done. _Is_ done. In the past. And will stay there.' I paused, smirking. 'But, that bastard _was_ my brother's enemy, and friends with his greatest rival. So, all in all, not a total loss.'

'I wonder where the Satan twins have gone off to.' I reflected uneasily. 'I couldn't have lost them _that_ easily. This is the ideal place to hide, though. No one ever comes here voluntarily.'

Suddenly, something changes, a shift in air pressure, maybe, or a change in my peripheral vision. Or, maybe I can suddenly sense the atmosphere, because I swear it feels tenser, more hostile.

I freeze in my tracks, and glance across the street. There, in the gathering darkness of twilight, stand the twin mafia members. I gulp. One brunet's hair shines a fiery, blood red in the harsh light of the streetlight; the other's is an endless shadow. Twin bodies, twin curls, twin faces, twin smirks. Twin guns, pointed straight at my heart. If I so much as move a finger towards the trigger, or make a move to put my gun on them, I was dead, a cap buried in my brain.

So, I do the only sensible thing: I slowly back up.

Paying no heed to any possible oncoming traffic, they calmly step off the curb into the street. It's a synchronized dance: They step forward, I step back. I move a finger towards the trigger; they tighten their grips on the guns. I freeze midway, and move my finger back. They relax a minuscule. Repeat.

Pretty soon, I'm literally backed into a corner, my back brushing against the decrepit alleyway. And I know that this is it. I'm trapped, have nowhere to go. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. 'I'm at the end of my rope.' I think bitterly.

And so I am. If I try to move, get myself out of this mess, I will be dead before you can say 'doornail.' The Italians close in on me; they're going to enjoy killing me, I know it. I close my eyes in submission. 'Make it quick, please.' I pray, even though I know it won't be.

I hear the impossibly loud click as their guns voice their readiness to kill. I can feel their aim, the guns on me, on the invisible targets over my temple and heart. I brace myself for the invertible. 'Well, this is an unheroic way to die, isn't it?' I think. But, before the triggers can be pulled, I heard two unison gasps, and the metallic click of two pistols, ready to fire.

My eyes spring open and take in the scene in front of me. I freeze in shock, behind the two Italians stands a Russian mobster, his twin pistols pressed to the base of their skulls. On his face he wore a childish smile that looked out of place with the guns. His gray, hue less hair shone silver in the moonlight, his purple eyes glowed like cats'. He looked like how I imagined the Angel of Death would: ethereal, spiritual, otherworldly.

"You will surrender, da? Or will I have to be using my pipe to persuade you?" Asked the Russian. Purely rhetorical, of course. No one could refuse, what with the kind of leverage he had over him or her.

'Huh,' I pondered as the Italians set down their guns and let themselves be pinned against the wall at gunpoint, 'I wonder if the Russian notices me.'

As the Russian began demanding information from the scared twins, I realized that, in the dark abyss that is the back corner of the alley, the Russian must not have seen me. Not too surprising, though, I haven't made a movement or a sound since he detained the Italians' attention. 'Well that was stupid of him; he must have been so focused on those two that he completely neglected me. If I were going to get out of here. . . Now would be the time.'

I steel my nerves, and turn the gun on them, finger on the trigger. The sudden movement startles them; the Italians freeze, the Russian starts and reaches for a pocket on his trench coat. But it's too late, for all of them. They collapse and fold in on themselves, like pieces of cable, the Russian grasping the pipe he had been blathering on about earlier. 'Must've been in his trench coat pocket.' I absentmindedly think, observing the scene before me with an oddly detached feeling.

Now dirt and garbage aren't the only things that decorate the ground.

I slowly come to my senses, panic tainting my thoughts. "Oh, shit! Fuck, Goddammit, son of a bitch! Fuck, what the hell did I just do? Dammit, before it was just a personal vendetta! What was it? An eye for an eye?" I laugh, hysteria weaving its way in. "Well, I'm fucked now, aren't I? Two fucking mafias after me."

I sink to my knees, giggles occasionally breaking through the otherwise silent town. I ponder my options. 'Well, the mafias will find me, and kill me. Even if I run, I'm not buying myself much time. Especially since two mafias will be competing for the pleasure of avenging their members or leader.' I sigh, my eyes slinking around my corner, before locking on the dead Russians' pistol. 'Well,' I wet my lips, 'they won't catch me this way. . . I'll be free, and they won't get the pleasure of killing me. . .' I take the pistol in my hand. It feels sturdy, nice and comforting. I smile slightly.

There will be another gunshot in this town tonight. I won't live long enough to hear it.

* * *

**Authors Note:** Well, that was a cheerful first fanfic, wasn't it? Actually, it was based off a dream my brother told me about. I don't own Hetalia. Anyway, please review, and thank you for reading.


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